


Smoke, Mirrors and a Game of Hearts

by EverescentlyS



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV), The Godfather
Genre: F/M, Smoking, Swearing, The Godfather Trilogy References, Violence, Will Add as I go, also idk how to tag, explicit - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-11 19:16:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20551325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverescentlyS/pseuds/EverescentlyS
Summary: A little thing that I've been tossing in my mind recently. I'm going to try and loosely follow the timeline of the show - I've also twisted the timeline of the Godfather to match the timing of Peaky Blinders.Long story short, reader is sent by Don Corleone to learn more about the Shelby family and their business. Obviously, she gets more than she bargains for and helplessly falls into the world that is Tommy fookin Shelby.





	1. The Journey Ahead

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters will definitely get longer as I write but fair warning, I haven't written in a loooong time so it might be a little rough (pls stick w me, think it'll get better). Hope you enjoy :)

It was a week’s journey to Birmingham, England.

You boarded your ship to London from New York in the early morning on July 1st. It was brisk despite it being halfway into the summer but you never liked the heat anyway so you were grateful for the cool breeze as you bid a final farewell to your sister, Anne and your best friend, Sonny. 

You wouldn’t lie and say you weren’t afraid of what lay ahead as you stepped onto the uneven wooden boards of the Odyssey. Seven days on such a large vessel was plenty of time for something to go wrong and when you made it, the task assigned was not an easy or quick one.

“Welcome aboard, miss.” A man said, nodding to you before welcoming the next guest.

You nodded, trying to swallow down the hints of anxious nausea. You’d made business trips with Sonny and the rest of the Corleone family to Los Angeles, Las Vegas and Atlanta but those were all by train and took only a day or a few hours to get to. A week on the Atlantic Ocean was the last thing you wanted. But Don Corleone’s words were law and to top it off, diminishing any chances of disagreeing, he’d asked you to take on the mission for the family, _personally_. So arguments of impossibleness were damned, the only answer he’d left you with was “yes”.

_“For the future of our family and the many more that will join us.” _Were the exact words he’d used as he asked for you take leave to Birmingham.

You found your cabin, room 440 and locked the door behind you, setting you bags down as you moved to settle in the dark, small room.

You pulled your journal out, finding with your fingers, the last place you’d marked in the pages. A photograph slid down to your lap as you opened to the next blank page.

Three men stood in the blurry photo Sonny Corleone handed to you after your first meeting with the Don. You felt it’s roughness with the pads of your thumb, outlining the barely visibly figures before turning it over slowly. There, in your friend’s writing were the names of the men you were meant to find.

_Arthur Shelby._

_John Shelby._

_Thomas Shelby._


	2. The Garrison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy - this is a a bit longer than the last.

The first day at sea, you spent it taking notes and sketching what you saw. You’d quickly realized, in the span of the first few hours on the ship, that the worst thing you could do for yourself and the rising anxiety you felt in the pit of your stomach was staying locked up in your dusty cabin. 

So instead you decided to venture out. Walking around halls and between the many different rooms the ship offered for its guest. You may have been forced to go alone to England but at least you were being treated to one of the fancier vessels that took off from the harbor.

You took the time to sketch the extravagant decor of the dining room, the maids running around with drinks and food and towels as well as the many men, women and children aboard with you. You wanted to remember, wanted to show them to Sonny , Tom and Anne when you finally did return. 

***

By the fifth day, you’d grown bored and tired of sketching and moved onto something more useful. Like, finding out what you could about Small Heath and what life there was like.

You were disappointed to find out there were very few who knew much about anything outside of London and even fewer still who knew about Small Heath. But the ones that did know spoke of mud and violent men and factories which only furthered the deepening feeling of dread. What were you really getting yourself into?

***

On the six and seventh day you took to your cabin to practice your accent and map out your backstory. Nobody was going to tell anything to a girl from Brooklyn, New York and especially if she an accent to match. 

The process could have been easier.

For the first few hours you stumbled over the words, mixing both American and British accents until they sounded like gibberish. 

But it could have been worse too. 

Your mother was Sicilian, a childhood friend to Vito Corleone and the only reason why he’d taken you under his wing in the first place but your father had been born and raised just a few minutes outside of London. You didn’t remember him much but you remembered his voice and so thankfully you knew what you needed to sound like to blend in.

As for your story, the story you were going to tell everyone there, you’d decided on one that people would take pity to. 

A sick mother, no money, moving to find a job that covered the costs. 

You’d found that the best lies were the ones that told the partial truth. Your mother had been sick and you had been out of money but those were all in the past and while it didn’t apply to you anymore, it was still a sound background story that you had enough emotional baggage to sell. 

You jotted down the specifics on another page of your journal in the case you forgot as time passed. There was nothing worse than getting caught in your own lie because you couldn’t remember a few details. 

***

In the late afternoon of August 8th, London began to form on the distant horizon and you packed your things and cleaned up your cabin faster than you thought imaginable. Land, finally. 

***

From London, it was just a couple of hours to Small Heath, you approached someone just near the docks the ship made port and after agreeing on a reasonable price, you took off with a horse and carriage in the direction of Small Heath, Birmingham. 

***

You stepped into your new apartment just around eight-forty. The landlord, thanks to the arrangements made by Tom and the Don, was already expecting you and had left your key along with a list of the expenses you needed to pay under the doormat. 

It was a small place. Nothing fancy but definitely secure and close to the town center. You didn’t take time to unpack, instead opting to run yourself a proper hot bath. Once it was warm and the smell of scented oils filled the air, you grabbed one of the books on the shelf to keep you company while you soaked the sea and the salt from your skin. 

You were in bed within the hour, thankful for the stillness of the room and the lack of nausea that the sea had brought. 

***

In the morning, the reality of your situation really began to dawn. 

You weren’t waking up in your usually room under Vito Corleone’s room. It was quiet, the sound of Freddy and Sonny’s arguing or the shouting of Carmela Corleone from the kitchen absent. Little Connie wasn’t knocking on your door asking if you could braid her hair. You were alone. 

You were alone in a small studio apartment, a flat, in the middle of Small Heath. Small Heath! 

It was not only thousands of miles away it was a whole ocean away from New York. Away from Tom, Sonny, your sister - they were back home and you were stuck here for the next six months without a single familiar face. And not only were you expected to somehow integrate yourself into the community but you were also to find and report back on the men that supposedly ran this town. The Shelby’s. 

The Peaky Blinders.

You tore through your bags, looking for the photo that Sonny had given you. The image of the three blurry men in your mind as you pulled the notebook out of your case. 

The said photograph slid from the pages of your journal, slipping towards the ground faster than your hands could grab it. 

It landed on its front, the names on the back facing you and the image to the wood floor. 

You bit your lip, running a hand through your hair as you reread those three names. You’d have to find them. You’d have to figure this whole thing out somehow. 

You didn’t really have a choice. 

***

After another bath and putting the clothes you’d packed and hauled to England away, you finally slipped out of your new home and onto the streets of Small Heath. 

After a cool bath and a reminder of the lack of room for failure, you had a newfound sense of resolve. It fueled your steps as you walked. Thoughts of home and the reminder that the sooner you found out about their expansion plans (if they existed), the sooner you could go back.

***

It was a cloudy day, you would say there was definitely a chance of rain but then, you didn’t really know enough about the usual weather here to tell. But you hoped it would rain, maybe the rain could wash away the smell of coal in the air. 

The first task at hand and the most important to integrating yourself properly into the community was to find yourself a job. You needed a secure footing in Small Heath before you went seeking out the Shelby’s and their plans. 

And not only did you need a job but you needed to find one that gave you access to all sorts of people and where you could easily eavesdrop on the latest town gossip. 

It was when you rounded the corner, stepping onto the main street that you noticed the large pub at the end of it.

The Garrison.

A perfect piece to your puzzle. Realization dawned on you and you were stepping towards the dark building a moment later.

A pub would bring men from all across town together and it’d present the perfect opportunity for her to gather information from bits of drunken conversation and to pull it too, from loose lips and minds. You made your way over to it with the story your decided on circling in your mind.

The front doors were heavy and doubled but you pushed through the two sets, entering with a little less grace than you’d intended. 

A lone man sat at the bar, a glass of whiskey in front of him. 

At the sound of your entrance, he glanced up, blue eyes taking you in for only a moment before returning to the wood and glass before him.

“We’re closed.” He said, shifting as he slid a small vial into his pocket. He sniffed. You frowned.

“The doors were unlocked.”

His bright blue eyes returned to you, this time light orbs burning with the beginnings of annoyance.

“We’re still closed.” 

“I’m here to ask about a job.” You explained hopefully, maybe if he knew you weren’t just a customer, he’d listen. 

The response was instant and not the one you were trying for. Those burning blue eyes tore away from you instantly, jaws locked. 

“We’re not hiring.”

You couldn’t give up. This would be the perfect place to begin.

“I could really do anything. Clean up, wash dishes-“

“We’re not hiring.” He snapped, meeting her gaze.

You forced down feelings of exasperation, wanting to yell at him about your predicament and growl about being forced to cross the sea. But instead you sighed, arms loose at your side. You lowered your voice (ignoring the desire to throw a tantrum) and slid every bit of desperation you had into a soft plea instead. 

It came easy to you, the shifting between emotions, and it was no doubt the reason why the Don, out of all the other members of your family, chose you. You were the only one who could fill the different roles they needed. A seductress, a damsel - you were brilliant at disguises and even better at selling their stories. It was the only reason why Vito Corleone brought you into the fold of his true business. 

“Please, I’ve checked every where around town.”

“Every other shop or pub’s got enough people working, this is the last place.” 

“It doesn’t have to be permanent, just something that’ll keep my mother and I afloat for the time being and I’ll find another.” 

Just long enough for you to figure out how to best weave yourself into the Shelby web. 

And like you hoped it would, the expression of annoyance slid from his face. In its place was uncertainty.

“You and your mum?”

You nodded. “I need to send money back home to pay the doctor.”

“She sick?”

Well, why else would you need to pay the doctor?

Annoyance flared and you quickly shoved it away. Couldn’t let that brim to the surface. You nearly had him. 

“Yes.” You said, letting your eyes fall to the floor for a moment. 

A beat of silence. The man staring at you and you staring at the ground. 

As if pulling yourself together, you inhaled. Straightening your spine and holding your chin a little bit higher as your chest rose with the breath. 

“I‘d really take any job, sir.” 

The man watched you for a moment, head tilted and light blue eyes fixed on your face as if he was weighing his options. You met and held his gaze. 

With a sigh, he gave in. Turning away from you to grab the glass of liquor before him. In one move, he downed the liquid, swallowing loud enough for you to hear from where you stood by the door. The glass returned to the counter, loud, the sound echoing through the empty bar.

He gestured you over with a tilt of his head. 

“Can you pour drinks? Our barmaid just left town.”

You nodded quickly, excitement and satisfaction washing over you as you made your way over to him in just a couple of steps. 

“Yes.” 

“The pay won’t be too high. You got a flat nearby?”

“Yes, don’t worry, anything would do.” You replied to both. 

He hummed in approval, blue eyes still not meeting yours but rather on the bar top. He seemed to be thinking, processing more conditions he could throw your way. You used the chance to scan the rest of the man’s features. Now that you were closer, you could better analyze who you were really speaking with.

The first thing you noticed was his hair. It was cut in a style you had never seen before in New York and unfamiliar with. Nearly past his ears at the top and clean shaven around the rest. It was obviously styled purposefully, swept back against his head and the strands that fell against his temples tucked behind his ear. Although, you guessed that they could easily be styled back with wax or whatever it was that Sonny and Tom used back at home.

You scanned the rest of his face. There was a fresh cut on his cheek that was still very much healing. Only a few days old from what you knew of wounds and from the angry red of the line. 

His blue eyes which had appeared so light had only seemed that way because of where you’d first stood. The light from the nearby window had hit the irises at just the right angle to make them look like two chips of ice but, up close, you realized they were a much deeper hue than you’d originally assumed. 

They were darker, perhaps even a greenish tint to them. 

“Can you read and write?”

“Yes.”

“And well.” You added.

That seemed to please him for he nodded quickly, deciding something he’d been debating in his mind.

“Right, you’ll do the books then too. Keep stock of what we got and what we need and how much we makin’.”

“Okay.” You agreed.

“What’s your name?” He asked after a moment and almost reluctantly, turning to you.

“Y/N.” 

“Y/N Winters.” 

He held his hand out for you to shake and you slipped yours into his grip.

“Right, I’m Arthur Shelby. Welcome to the Garrison.”


	3. Whiskey and Revelations

It took everything for you to school your features so they didn’t reveal the genuine surprise and recognition of his name right there and then (the same kind of resilience it took for you to not disregard the Don’s wishes when he told you about Birmingham). But after he left, you spent the a good thirty minutes in a sort of haze. 

Arthur Shelby. 

One of the three names on the back of the photograph and by chance you’d not only found him but had also gotten yourself a job at his pub. 

You laughed softly, wiping a spot on the bar counter as you shook her head in disbelief.

It was the arrival of Harry, the other bartender that Arthur told you about and the second in charge of the Garrison, that finally got you to snap back into reality. 

He was a tall man, simply dressed and even simpler looking with ruffled hair and large ears. You could easily see the difference between the kind of man Arthur was and the kind Harry wasn’t. One looked like it would be a walk in the park to point a gun at your head and the other walked with the sort of awkwardness and slowness that could only be brought on by being of such a tall height. You couldn’t imagine him with a gun let alone pointing one at anybody.

“Mornin’, Arthur told me we ‘ad a new barmaid.”

“Y/N.” You introduced, fighting off the rising glee that threatened to wash over you at the mention of your sheer luck. You couldn’t wait to write to the Don about it. 

“You sing?”

Your excitement stopped short and you blinked up at the tall man. Sing?

He looked at your confused expression and shook his head.

“Never mind, just thought that-“

His cheeks grew pink. 

“Er, Grace, the last barmaid, she sang sometimes.”

You could in fact, definitely not sing. Nor did you want to. The last time you’d tried, you’d been ten and Fredo and Sonny had laughed at your attempt to practice for the school choir. The embarrassment that followed was enough for you to never try it again.

“Arthur didn’t say anything about singing.” 

Harry shook his head, growing more and more flustered by the second.

“Never mind that, forget I mentioned it.” 

And before you could say anything else he swept on, throwing a towel over his shoulder and rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. You recognized it as an attempt to change subject, as switching gears and moving on from his moment of fluster. 

“Right, I’ll show you where we keep stock, how to pour ‘em pints-oh, you see that room over to your left?”

Your turned her head, nodding when you saw what he was pointing to. To your left, in the wall at the end of the bar there was a small sort of window and through that, a private room with a couple of chairs, a large table and one of the red cushioned benches that decorated some of the seats in the main bar.

“That’s where ‘em Shelby’s sit. They knock, you give them Irish whiskey. They don’t knock, you still give them Irish whiskey.” 

You nodded once more, showing you understood. 

“They come here often then?” You asked before he could continue. When you turned you saw his mouth was parted, as if just about to start with another set of instructions.

Harry‘s lips lowered into a frown, features furrowing towards the center at her question. 

“Arthur said you weren’t from around here. Just how far is you’re home?” He responded after a moment.

“Redditch.” You replied, meeting his inquisitive gaze.

He clicked the top of his mouth, eyebrows shooting up in surprise but nodding as if it all made sense to him now. 

“Aye. You’re afar off.” He said and then resumed wiping the table.

You furrowed her brows when he didn’t immediately continue. There was more, you were sure there was more to whatever that meant yet he’d stopped talking altogether. 

You pressed on after a moment.

“Is there something that I should know?”

He glanced up at you and you didn’t miss the wariness in those light orbs. He shook his head, moving on to the next table.

“You just stay clear from trouble, alright? Stay clear and you’ll be fine.”

The urge to groan washed over you and you turn away in disappointment, biting your lip to make sure he didn’t hear your moment of exasperation. Harry could have been useful. He could have given you the intel you needed so you could plan your next move but all he’d proven to be currently was a man too worried to say anything.

You went back to stacking the glasses onto the countertop. Opening time was at noon and it was well after eleven. Arthur had told you to only prepare the glassware for the evening and leave the rest to Harry. He’d also only told you so you had guessed how exactly to do it. But from what you knew of the bars back in New York and the fact that Harry didn’t make a comment about it being right or wrong, you supposed you were doing it right. 

And while you wiped down the glasses, you familiarized yourself with the names of the different ales and liquors available to you. If Harry wasn’t going to be your local informant than you might as well work on your bartending skills. 

If you were going to solidify your place here (because no way were you giving this up especially after finding out who owns the pub), you needed to make sure you could serve the alcohol without stumbling over drink types and orders. 

***

The first guest walked in five minutes past noon. Stepping into the bar with a nod in Harry’s direction and a curious gaze in your’s.

He sat at the end of the bar too, sliding into the tall chair while removing his hat and setting it beside him. 

“Ale.” He ordered, that curious expression still on his coal covered face. As if realizing his own appearance at the same time you did his, he brought out a handkerchief and wiped at his forehead and eyes before setting that down next to his hat. It didn’t do much to help, only smudging the dirt and debris so that it sat firmer in the lines around his nose and mouth. 

“What happened ter Grace?” He asked, voice gruff and surprisingly suspicious. His accent was thicker than both Harry’s and Arthur’s and it took you a second longer to figure out what he’d asked. Before you could respond though, Harry interrupted.

“Grace left town.” He said reappearing from the stalk room with a crate of Irish whiskey. He set it down at his feet.

“Said something about family.” 

You glanced towards his face when you heard his voice strain. He was obviously lying and just like you’d suspected earlier, there was definitely more to the story.

“Afternoon, Frank. How’s work?” You also recognized that he was making the same attempt to change subjects as he’d used with you. 

You moved to pour him his choice of drink, grabbing one of the pint glasses you’d just wiped before turning to the large barrel behind you.

“The same.” The man barked in response. Harry moved to unload the bottles of whiskey. 

“These are for ‘em Shelby’s, I’ll put ‘em right here. You grab glasses and you give ‘em there.” He nodded towards the window. 

“Or you go and pour it for ‘em.” 

“Okay.” You replied, sliding the drink across the bar to Frank.

“What’s yaw nerm then, love?” 

You met his dark eyes.

“Y/N.” 

He seemed about to ask something again but then the doors of the Garrison opened and through it stepped three men. The first, Arthur. You recognized his undercut and long slicked back dirty blonde hair. 

He met your eyes once, nodding in greeting and then stepped through the doors of the private room. Behind him followed another man. His hair was cut in the same style Arthur’s was, slightly shorter perhaps and was obviously of a more masculine build. Broad shoulders while Arthur’s were narrow and slim. His light eyes met yours briefly and the lips that were wrapped around the end of a toothpick slipped into a frown but otherwise he made no attempt to approach you, only following behind Arthur. 

The final man wore a flat cap but from what you could see of the sides of his hair, he too had the same cut as the two men before him.

But...there was something different about this one. As he moved through the doors, Frank and Harry both seemed to straighten, backs tensed as he stepped into the bar. 

“Afternoon, Tommy.” Harry said politely, calling attention towards the three of them at the bar. The man’s eyes moved to find Harry’s which followed with a nod of acknowledgment. And then, slowly, slid down to you. 

Everything seemed to slow when your eyes met. You felt the breath in you chest catch and time slow as he found you standing behind the bar. Your focus shifted until it zeroed in on his handsome face. When his features changed to something of puzzlement, you felt your pulse quicken. 

Yes, there was something different about him. 

His irises, two spheres of ice had met yours just once and had already pinned you in place.

He was younger than Arthur but older than the man before him. His eyes were deep set, his jaws firm and his cheekbones impossibly high. The mouth that was straightened into a thin line held lips that were full and pink. 

Your eyes lingered on each of these features, astounded by them. 

It was only when he walked through the second door, disappearing from your view that you began to breathe again. 

The sounds around you returned to your ears. The rush of your own blood now being drowned out by Frank and Harry’s conversation about the raise in price of the markets. You blinked, slow and still not entirely sure what had just happened.

Surely it hadn’t been all in your head? Surely, Harry had seen the exchange? Had seen the way he’d looked at you? The way you’d reacted to him?

A bottle of whiskey appeared before you suddenly, making you jolt in surprise.

“What’d I say, eh?” Harry asked, raising one brow in question. 

When you only gaped at him he jerked his head towards the private room. 

Right.

You shook yourself and nodded.

“I’ve got it.” You reassured, partly to confirm with Harry that you remembered and also to mentally scold yourself for losing focus. Whoever that was, he was obviously important and you needed to find out why. Standing and gawking would get you no where.

You grabbed a stack of glasses in one hand and the bottle in the other before moving towards the end of the bar. 

You gave yourself one last mental shake (because frankly, your heart was still racing) and approached the private room. 

The three men were seated around the table. Arthur and who you thought to be the youngest of the three on one side and Tommy, as Harry called him, on the opposite. You ignored the third completely and instead, smiled at Arthur who was the only familiar face in the room. 

“Afternoon, Mr. Shelby.” Your voice was surprisingly steady despite the nervous energy coursing through your whole body. 

“Whiskey?” You set down your three glasses. 

“Thanks.” Arthur said with a nod, though you noticed he cast a worried glance towards the very man you were avoiding the eyes of. 

You didn’t want a repeat of what you’d just felt so you didn’t let your gaze follow.

You began to unscrew the bottle, almost glaring at the liquor in the glass to keep your eyes from wandering anywhere else.

You didn’t understand why you’d reacted the way you did. Nobody had ever left you flustered like this and yet here you were, pouring liquor with a pounding heart and hot ears.

Perhaps you were better off just listening and not lookin at anything else. 

“Your hire another barmaid, Arthur?” 

That idea was quickly tossed at the question and you immediately looked up. 

It was the younger of the three that spoke, a knowing and mischievous glint to his eye as his gaze shifted between you, Arthur and Tommy.

“Thought we were done doing that, brother.” A sneer was added to the question and as you let your gaze flicker between him and Arthur, you not only saw the panic grow in the older man’s face but your own realization as well. 

It clicked. It clicked. It finally clicked.

Brother. He’d said, brother.

And Harry had said Tommy. 

You recalled the photo and the names Sonny had scribbled down for you. 

Arthur Shelby. 

He was your boss.

John Shelby. 

The youngest of the three and the one who was currently doing his very best to get a rise out of his two older brothers. 

And Thomas Shelby. Tommy for short.

At that you finally let your eyes go to the person you were avoiding. To your relief (yet slight disappointment?) he wasn’t looking at you, neither was he looking at his two brothers. Instead those blue almost silver eyes were trained on the cigarette between his fingers. 

Feeling embarrassed for giving in, you forced yourself to continue pouring the whiskey, your eyes back on the bottle. 

A good barmaid probably didn’t gawk.

“Only temporarily, Tom. She’s got a family emergency and I really need someone to manage the books and pour drinks.”

“Harry not doing his share of the work?” 

It was the first thing you’d heard him say. And just like the sight of him had done, this also sent a wave of surprise through you. His voice was deep, almost hoarse and it rumbled in the air around you. 

“You know how we are, he can barely read and I can barely count.”

“And now that-“ Arthur stumbled. You guessed he was going to mention the previous barmaid. She didn’t seem like a popular topic around here. 

“I mean it’s only for a short while though, only till she finds something better. Right, love?” Arthur carried on. You met his gaze. 

Like hell. You thought but nodded in simultaneously in agreement without missing a beat. A smile in his direction for reassurance.

“Right.” You echoed.

“Does the damsel got a name then?” The same mischievous tone interrupted, ignoring Arthur’s attempts at reasoning with Tommy. 

You shifted, moving away from the table and setting the bottle down. You’d somehow, through all of the nervousness and racing thoughts, managed to pour three glasses of whiskey. Without spilling too. Maybe the glaring at the liquor had helped. 

“Y/N.” 

You met the younger brother’s eyes, light blue. Lighter than Arthur’s but not as light as Tommy’s.

“John.” He responded with a smirk, confirming your theory.

“And Thomas.” John gestured across the table to his other brother, you let her eyes follow through after a moment. Thomas had the cigarette in his mouth, pulling on it slowly. 

“Two weeks.” He exhaled.

His eyes snapped to you before you could convince yourself to look away. 

“I want you out of here in two weeks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!!

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought & if you'd like to read more!


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